


Morning and Night

by modernlifehistorian



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Canon, F/M, Fluffy Domestic with a touch of angst, Future Fic, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-03
Updated: 2018-04-03
Packaged: 2019-04-17 22:27:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14198985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernlifehistorian/pseuds/modernlifehistorian
Summary: As they go through the first week of settling in to their new apartment in Palo Alto, California, it quickly becomes evident to Lucy that she and Wyatt’s sleep schedules don’t exactly line up.





	Morning and Night

**Author's Note:**

> I desperately needed a break from all the angst, so I wrote this (fairly large) little fluffy nugget. It’s post series/post season two and is based on a bunch of separate ideas I shared with my dear friend Chasethesun18 on tumblr. This is my first attempt at something really fluffy and domestic, so please bear with me! I apologize for any drastic grammar/punctuational errors but I basically just wrote this all out without any serious read overs and wanted to get it out there. These were originally going to be different one-shots, but I liked the way the flowed together, and I hope y’all do to! A little warning: this is heavy T, very light M, so if that’s not your thing be prepared to skip over a couple scenes.

 

Lucy Preston thinks that by the time Rittenhouse has _finally_ been eliminated, and they get to permanently leave the deserted hell hole they have been trapped in, that she and Wyatt have a pretty solid grasp on this relationship thing. While the time they had been _together_ together has been brief, they have known each other for so long that the shift to relationship felt so natural. They understand each other’s ticks. Their likes and dislikes when it comes to most things. Food, books, movies, board games. It all feels so easy. So organic. But if there is one thing that taking down a shadow society hasn’t allowed for, it’s regular sleeping patterns. It could have been anytime day or night that the Mothership jumped, and they had to be ready to go seconds after. So even when she and Wyatt began sharing a single room, any normalities in sleep habits either went unnoticed or were just thought to be the result of the odd hours their odd job dealt them.

But as they go through the first week of settling in to their new apartment in Palo Alto, California, it quickly becomes evident to Lucy that she and Wyatt’s sleep schedules don’t exactly line up.

 

* * *

 

He collapses on top of her, his heavy weight a welcome blanket even when they’re both tinged with sweat and trying to catch their breath. He gently kisses her forehead before sliding off despite her groans of protest.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispers, stealing another quick kiss from her lips before heading for the bathroom. Lucy takes the time to reach down onto the floor and swipe up the shirt she had helped Wyatt discard earlier and throws it over her head.

“There’s no need for that,” Wyatt complains as he slips back into bed and begins tugging at the hem of the shirt.

“You know I don’t like sleeping naked,” she laughs at his pouting. “I get too cold.”

“I have a remedy for that,” he growls, sweeping her back underneath him and pressing her into the mattress.

“Wyatt!” she laughs breathlessly. “Get _off_.” She tries and fails to lift his deliciously muscular weight off of her, so she goes for another method. She grabs his scruffed face between her palms and drags his lips down to her, opening up to him immediately. He picks up his body onto his elbows to adjust his position just enough for Lucy to flip them over, sitting up and smirking victoriously.

“Well that’s just rude,” he sighs, grabbing her hips a bit tighter.

“I do what I have to,” she smiles leaving him with one last long, languid kiss on his lips before following the path he had taken just seconds earlier. She looks herself over in the mirror; she’s all disheveled hair, bare faced, and absolutely as happy as she’s ever seen herself. It’s really a new feeling for her, being caught up in such bliss. Up until now it always seemed like one thing or another had to go wrong in her life, but now… now she has all she needs, and he’s laying in her bed right outside the closed bathroom door.  They each have so much to figure out: what they’re going to do for their old jobs, whether they going to remain in Palo Alto or find somewhere new, but for now they are both content with taking this break from the world they just finished saving. They deserve that much.

She’s in the bathroom for all of 3 minutes, but by the time she makes her way back into the dim bedroom, Wyatt is fast asleep with a gentle snore escaping his half open mouth and his body still spread out in the middle of the king-sized bed (they went for the biggest size possible after being confined to a twin cot for the last few months). She picks up her phone to check the time. 10:37? And he’s already asleep? She shrugs and just takes the time to admire her soldier. Even in the midst of sleep in the Silo, he still was so tense, the weight of all the had to do weighing greatly on his shoulders, but tonight she notes how he looks at peace, fully asleep, his brow un-furrowed, the muscles in his back only visible when he took a breath as opposed to always being visible due to tension in he carried. This can be their normal now. She wants it to be their normal… but she also knows there is real life they’ll have to get back to eventually. For now, however, she’ll take all she can get in the way of this domestic picture, so she takes seat on the little nook next to their large bedroom window, curling her legs up to her chest, and just relishes in it.

She has always been a night owl; nights of staying up late writing papers quickly transitioned into nights of staying up late grading papers. This, in turn, means she loves the luxury of sleeping in (the only semester she had taught a class earlier than 10:40 was the longest semester of her life). So even now, even after months of insanity and heartache and upheaval of everything she knew, she still carries this tendency to stay up well into the night.

 

She begins to think about it all. All they had endured in the past couple years, the past year in particular, to get to here. She had suffered so much heartache from her mother and Emma and even at Wyatt’s own hand. The whole Jessica ordeal had nearly torn her apart, but at the end of the day she knew that Rittenhouse had to be eliminated, and she had been willing to do that with or without Wyatt. She never fooled herself to believing the situation had been any easier on him, but even he admits that he didn’t handle it well. He did what he thought he needed to do, but even when something shook him into sense, she still hesitated to accept him back so easily. But, stubborn soldier that he is, he persisted, never overbearing, but always reminding her that he was there for her and always would be. In whatever capacity she wanted. She knew how she wanted him, but it took seeing him, in that final confrontation, hesitate in putting an end to Emma’s life, when she reminded them that she was the only one who knew how to get Amy back, for Lucy to comprehend just how much Wyatt loved her. The look he had cast her direction was one of such conflict that she had never witnessed before.

“Lucy?” _What do you want me to do?_ She had to admit that in that moment she hesitated too. There were two options: 1) Finish Rittenhouse. Right here. Right now. They could go onto their lives. No more history chases. Nothing. 2) Have a chance of getting her sister back. Maybe. There were no guarantees. Did Emma even know all she did to alter that line. Was it worth the risk? She looked Wyatt and surely and steadily nodded her head, and before Emma could make the move to escape, Wyatt put the final bullet between her eyes.

There had still been so much chaos falling around them, but she didn’t notice; her sister was gone. She fell to her knees, and he came to her side.

“I’m so sorry, Lucy,” he murmured into her ear as he rocked her gently. She didn’t have any words to say right now. She would when this all this was over. When the gravity of all they had done no longer felt like it was crushing her. But for that moment she just sat there in his solid embraced and cried.  

 

When the memory finishes replaying its cruel tape in her mind, she realizes a few tears have escaped her eyes. At this point she has come to terms with all she’s lost because she chooses to focus on what she gained. So she forces the memory to the back of her mind and enjoys the moment of tranquility.

She takes turns gazing at the stars, finding the constellations she knows before turning to look at him, taking the time to notice new things about him, memorizing all she can. She knows there might be a time soon when he will go back to Pendleton, go back on missions, be away for months at a time, so she takes it all in now. But as the idea of him having to leave begins to sinks it, Lucy feels the urge to hold his as close as she can for as long as she can. She moves from her spot next to the window and sinks into the bed beside him. Without so much as cracking his eyes open, Wyatt finds her waist and wraps his arms tightly around her, drawing her as close as he can. She sighs in blissful content, and as the clocks shifts to 12:04, she drifts to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The clock barely reads 6:23 as Wyatt feels himself pulled from his sleep, restfulness being welcome for the first time in the better part of a decade. He knows why. It’s because of the beautiful brunette professor who still sleeps soundly beside him. It’s because together with their team, they brought down Rittenhouse and are now free to live the life that has been calling to them since that night in 1941. _That night._ Just the thought of that night has him already _wanting_ her even this early in the morning. He loosens his grip on her waist and lays her flat. She doesn’t so much as budge. He’ll see to that. He pulls the comforter over his head, making his way down her body, leaving gentle kisses at each point. He reaches his tongue out to taste her, and she immediately stirs. He hears her moan and thinks it as a moan of pleasure, but the words that follow confirm anything but.

“What ungodly hour is this, Wyatt?” Lucy growls her voice heavy with sleep, but he’s not disheartened. He knows how to make her comply. He moves forward and begins working a little faster.

“Oh,” she breathes, a little more awake. It doesn’t take much longer for her to be moaning his name in a different way, a way that has him all more ready to proceed.

“Still want to go back to sleep?” he asks slyly when he finds his way back up her body.

“Not yet,” she says lazily, slinging her arms around his neck and pulling him in for a long good morning kiss.

He’s pretty certain he can make her a morning person.

 

He can’t. Even after her second release, it takes her mere moments to drift back to sleep, and he’s left to enjoy the early morning alone.

He leaves one last kiss on her forehead before climbing out of bed and slipping on the sweatpants he had been wearing the night before. The morning sun is just peeking over the horizon, and he takes a seat by the east window to enjoy it.

He has always been a morning person. It began when he visited Grandpa Sherwin on the farm and the old man would wake him at the crack of dawn, enlisting him to help care for the animals, but Wyatt can’t say he ever minded. It transitioned into waking up early for boot camp, and then waking up early for whatever operation he was apart of at that time. Waking up as early as possible and going to bed as early as possible. That’s the habit followed him all the way here as did his love for morning runs. So when the sun finishes it’s ascent over the horizon, Wyatt finds a t-shirt and some shorts in his old duffel bag, slips on his running shoes, leaves a quick note for Lucy in case she wakes up, and heads out the door.

 

There’s a park just down the street from there complex where Wyatt finds himself running lap after lap, going over in his head all that had to occur for him to make it to where he was.

This thing with Lucy had seemed so promising after the trip from 1941, but when Jessica had made her startling reappearance… he didn’t exactly go about it well. He knows the list of mistakes he made is too long to be thought over now, but the biggest ones still haunt him. The first being running out of the bunker without giving Lucy a word of warning, and he felt the effects of that broken the trust the moment the team returned from Salem. The second was Salem itself. He should have known that there would be a jump while he was gone, but he ignored the voice in his head because it was _Jessica._

But it wasn’t.

At least not the one he thought he had known.

The third was trying to deny what his heart had been telling him. He wasn’t meant for Jessica anymore. He probably never had been. But he stuck with her anyway because wasn’t that was he was supposed to do? It took Rufus, and Jiya, and Denise, and finally Jessica telling him that no it wasn’t. Because in doing so he was hurting three people: the woman he was lying to, the woman he loved, and himself. He came to terms with all of this fairly quickly, but it hadn’t been such an easy turn around for Lucy. It took sometime and some near death experiences for her to finally give him the second chance he practically begged her for.

The final mistake isn’t so much a mistake as it is a regret. He regrets how the whole Rittenhouse chapter of their life came to a close. Nothing ended as it should have. Carol redeemed herself in the end, trading her life for Lucy’s, but that didn’t make the hurt any easier on her. And they had failed at bringing Amy back. He had ended the life of the only person who knew how history had shifted to halt Amy Preston’s existence, and Wyatt had held a sobbing Lucy in his arms for what felt like days as she mourned the final loss of her adored sister. To him, at that point, it didn’t seem like there would be any coming back from those losses, but he, again, underestimated Lucy Preston. Her resilience earned his awe, and while the healing will take a while, Wyatt has no doubt that she’s still his Lucy. The one who snapped at him within the first minute of them meeting. The one who saved him from himself at the Alamo. The one who stood between guns and called for peace. It might take time, but he is going to be there for her every second of the way.

 

Lucy still isn’t awake when he returns. It’s 8:23. She’s exactly as he left her a half hour before, and as much as he craves her company, he leaves her to rest, helping himself to a brief shower before beginning a very modest breakfast.

They haven’t had all that much time for any major grocery shopping, but he made sure a few days before to procure at least the essentials: coffee and just-add-water pancake mix (he figures he might be a little fancy this morning and add milk instead). She stumbles into the kitchen at a quarter to nine with her eyes open only enough to ensure she doesn’t run into walls or trip over anything. He continues the task of making pancakes until he feels her to slender arms link around his waist and her forehead jam him in the back.

“Good mornin’, babydoll,” he smirks, flipping one of the cakes into the air. She grumbles something that might be words into his back, but he isn’t quite certain; the only intelligible thing to escape her lips is “coffee”, and he understands. With her arms still trapping his middle, he reaches into the cabinet just above eye level and grabs her favorite mug: the presidential campaign slogan mug Rufus had gotten her for her birthday the year before, and fills it with the dark beverage.

“Mlft,” she mumbles and it takes him a second to translate her morning-English. He grabs the milk carton that was still sitting beside the skillet and adds just a splash until it’s more of the caramel color she loves than just black.

“Here you go, ma’am,” he smiles, turning in her tight embrace, but holding the coffee behind him just out of her reach. Her forehead is now firmly planted against his chest instead of his back, so she reaches a hand up and blindly grasps around for the mug. When her arm finally droops, she lifts her head and eyes the mug behind him before staring him down.

“What the hell, Logan?” she grumbles.  
“Kiss for the cook first,” he says cheekily. She grumbles another incoherent phrase before lifting up on her toes just enough to reach his lips. He bring the mug forward and hands it off, placing a loving kiss on her forehead. “I know it’s such a hassle to kiss your live-in boyfriend,” he teases, but she just takes a seat on the couch and begins working her down the mug, not giving a single bother of the temperature. When he brings the plate of pancakes into the living room and plops down beside her, the mug is empty, and Lucy looks up at him with a beautiful smile.

“Those smell amazing,” she compliments, taking the fork he brought for her, but before she begins digging into her breakfast, she grabs him by the neckline of his shirt and gives him a much longer, in depth kiss than she had just moments before. “Thank you.” He gets the feeling every morning will be this kind of wild ride, but he can’t say he isn’t excited to be the only one riding it.

 

* * *

 

She sits in bed that night instead of the little nook by the window and indulges in a good few chapters of the last Churchill biography she purchased the first day they were released from the Silo. Wyatt has a long arm slung across her hips as he contentedly snored away, but it occurs to her that she continues drawing the book closer to her eyes that the light of the moon through the window might be insufficient for reading. Trying not to wake the man sleeping beside her, she leans ever so slightly to flip on the side lamp.

A long groan rips from Wyatt’s throat as he buries his face into his pillow. “Why?”

“Because I want to read,” she laughs. “Night is the best time for that.” He lifts his head just enough to check his phone for the time.

11:56

“ _Lucy,_ ” he groans. “It is too late for any sane person to be awake.” He tries to pry the book from her hands, but when she tugs it beyond his reach, he gives up rather quickly.

“We’ve both recognized that I classify as a crazy person,” she stated. “So this is actually perfectly acceptable behavior.”

“I guess I failed to wear you out enough earlier.” His smirks still make her stomach flutter even when he’s half awake. “Should I attempt to remedy that?” That gives her an idea. She sets her book on the side table.

“You could…” she begins. “Or I could.” His eyebrows shoot up in intrigue even though his eyes remain mostly closed.

“Why, Dr. Preston,” he murmurs. “Are you going to take advantage of me in my sleep state?” She doesn’t respond with words, instead just giving his shoulder a gentle shove so he rolls onto his back.

The lamp burns for the rest of the night.

 

* * *

 

It’s not always the exact same routine, but they begin to adapt to each other.

There comes a morning a couple weeks into their time living together where instead of drifting right back to sleep after the amorous activities Wyatt always engages her in in the predawn haze, Lucy sits up and looks around, uncertain as to why she feels so awake.

“You alright there, Luce?” Wyatt asks as he tugs on his running shoes.

“Yeah,” she murmurs, still unsure about why she isn’t asleep. “Where are you going?”

“On a run,” he laughs. “I leave a note every morning, but you’re never awake to read it.” He comes and plops down at the edge of the bed beside her.

“I like sleep,” she shrugs.

“No, you like sleeping _in,_ ” he corrects her with a playful nudge. She seems to ponder the statement for a moment before conceding.

“That’s fair,” she chuckles, running a hand through her unruly curls and checking her phone. 6:03. “Well, now what am I supposed to do? Are other, you know, _normal_ humans even awake by now?” He laughs at her jab.

“Who needs other people, babydoll,” he tilts her chin up and steals a quick kiss. “When you have me?” She looks at him with skepticism in a quirked eyebrow. “Come run with me,” he suggests. “It’ll be fun; I promise.” Lucy has a hard time believing an early morning run could be anything even closely related to fun, but when her options are sit here and wish she were asleep, or go on a run with this flirty-eyed soldier, she figures a run won’t be the _worst_ things she could be doing.

“Fine,” she sighs in defeat. “But I don’t want you leaving me behind or mocking my slow pace. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replies in obedience.

 

But the terms on which she agrees to run are futile because even if he wants to make any kind of snarky remark about her speed, he isn’t able to… because once the hit the sidewalk path she’s _gone._

After years in the military and special forces, Wyatt considers himself a fairly decent runner, but Lucy seems to have no end to her stamina. By the time they finish the 4 miles he made her agree to, he has managed to somehow keep up with her, but he’s near dead on his feet while she just has to walk around for a moment to catch her breath.

“That wasn’t so bad,” she admits. “Definitely not an everyday thing, but not as miserable as I thought.” He’s finally able to stand up straight and just stares at her with a look of disbelief. “What?” she asks.

“Lucy Preston, you are just a damn enigma,” he pants, pulling her in for a sweaty, breathless kiss.

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

It’s been a little over a month of living together, and after much thought, and debate, and pros and cons lists, and extensive research, and life planning, Lucy decides to return to Stanford, at least temporarily (she ignores the teasing eye roll she receives from Wyatt for putting so much stress into a fairly small decision). Her hope for tenure is mostly gone, but, as much as she loves all the time she and Wyatt have been enjoying, she’s going absolutely insane with nothing to do besides sit around all day. She gets word from her boss a week before the fall semester begins that she’s just teaching one class

“Rat bastard,” she mutters as she reads over the email.

“What was that?” Wyatt inquires from his side of the bed where he has been mindlessly scrolling through his phone.

“My boss, he--he gave me the one class he _knew_ I’d hate the most,” she says through grit teeth.

“Which would be?” he urges her to continue.

“It’s the Gilded Age,” she sighs, gesturing towards her computer screen. “So post-reconstruction to right around 1900. He _knows_ that’s my least favorite era, and so of course that’s what I get.”

“And how would he know such a specific detail, Dr. Preston?” he asked innocently, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“It’s, uh--it’s not a long story per say, but just a fairly… complicated short story,” she grumbles.

“Oh, I bet,” he smirks. “How long did y’all date?”

“We didn’t _date,_ ” she corrects him quickly. “We just… went on a long string of fairly unsuccessful dates.”

“Unsuccessful how?” She plops her head back against the wall, wishing he would just let it go.

“All he wanted to do was either talk about history or have sex,” she explains.

“And those are _bad_ things?” he clarifies, leaving a lingering kiss on her neck.

“When that’s all there ever is, then yes,” she answers, playfully pushing his head away. “But all this means is I’m going to have to spend the next couple weeks refreshing myself on all that goes on here.”

“Are you telling me my resident historian _doesn’t_ know every second of what’s occured in American History?” He flops onto his pillows in feign distress. “I just… I feel so lied to.” She sets her computer on the floor before rolling over on top of him.

“It’s a lot of stuff, cowboy,” she quips, poking him in the ribs. “And my brain is only so big.”

“I can think of another thing that _is--_ ”

“Don’t finish that statement,” she laughs, hiding her face in his broad chest.

“What?” he asks. “I’m talking about all those books you keep stashed away in the hallway closet, Luce. Get your mind out of the gutter.” She can’t stop the laughter that ripples through her. He’s such a tease and an absolute dork that it just makes her feel so light, like she’s floating on a cloud. It’s so easy with him. Even in their darkest times, he found ways to make her smile.

“Guess I better get reading, then.”

 

She’s surprised that by the time she returns with her couple of books on the Gilded Age (she had to really dig for them) that he’s still awake. It’s 10:59.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” she jests, making herself comfortable beside him with the books settled in her lap.

“Not too tired,” he says, stealing the top book. “Figured I see what all the fuss is about.” She feels a large smile creep across her face until she’s practically beaming. “What?” he chuckles.

“Nothing,” she shrugs, leaning even further into him. “Nothing at all.”

 

It’s a little past midnight before a yawn leaves her mouth, and she knows it’s time to call it a night. But when she glances over at Wyatt, he’s still engrossed in the text, and Lucy can’t believe he’s really read as far as it appears.

“It’s barely been an hour and you’ve read--” she peaks at the page number. “171 pages? No, I call bullshit. You’re hardly ever conscious at this point of the night. Did you actually read all of that?”

He holds a hand to his heart in mock pain. “Ouch, Luce, you wound me! I did read it all in fact. I’ve just always been a speedy reader. How do you think I picked up four languages in my time in the military?” Lucy’s floored, and, quite frankly, a little turned on. She’s also embarrassed to think about the fact that in the beginning, she dismissed him as little more than a hotheaded, reckless soldier because that’s just a fraction of the man she’s come to love, and he keeps surprising her. She can hardly think of a proper response, so she just echoes how she responded when she learned he spoke four languages in the first place. “Oh.” He gives her a wry smirks because he _knows._ He’s fully aware that she finds his intellectual prowess just as sexy as anything else he has to offer. He plans to capitalize on that, but she beats him to the punch, tossing the book from his hands, and climbing on top of him with her exhaustion long forgotten.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt figures that when he hears from Pendleton again, it won’t be the most welcome news. Another deployment, another mission, all of which he is used to at this point. But what’s different now is Lucy. He’s not used to being away from her. The longest he’s gone without her in the past 3 years is the six weeks Rittenhouse had her. But he figures that at least they’ll give him a pretty decent heads up.

He shouldn’t have expected so much from the military.

Four days.

Four fucking days.

He has to be at Pendleton ready to ship out in four days, and they tell him to expect to be gone for around 8 months. When he gets the call, Lucy is still teaching her class, and so he’s left to climb the walls, frantically worrying about how she’ll react. What if they’re not ready to face this separation? What if she realizes it’s just too much?

It’s 3:36 when she walks in the front door, and Wyatt is just sitting on the couch with his face in his hands. He doesn’t even hear her come in.

“Wyatt?” she rushes to him, kneeling in front of him and grasping his wrists. “What’s wrong?” He lifts his face, grabs her hands, and sits up a bit.

“I, uh, I got a call today.” This information does little to ease the stress in her furrowed brow. “From Pendleton.” She sits back a little bit.

“You’re leaving?” It might have been a question. It might have been a statement. Neither of them knew. But he remains silent, and that says all she needs to know. “When? How long?”

“It’s…” He can’t bring himself to tell her. It’s not even that he’s worried about her. It’s _him_ that’s not ready.

“Wyatt,” she demands his response.

“I ship out in four days,” he sighs, running a hand across the scruff on his face. Her hands drop from his. She takes a deep breath.

“How long?”

“Eight months.” He can’t meet her eyes, but he can see her visibly sag under the weight of this news. They sit in silence for what feels like hours, and as much as he wants to spend the remainder of the time they have now doing everything but dwelling on his absence, he gives her the time she needs to come to grips with this.

“Okay,” she states albeit quietly. “Eight months.” She stands up and reaches her hands out for his. He takes them and pulls her into a tight embrace.

“You’re taking this a little better than I anticipated,” he admits against her brown curls.

“The time for tears will be later,” she tells him, but the way she says it makes Wyatt thinks she’s saying it more in defiance of her own instincts than assuring him. “Right now, you’re here, and I don’t plan on wasting that with thinking of what it’s going to be like when you won’t be.” He can’t stop the feeling of tears pricking at his own eyes. More out of relief than any sadness. And also out of overwhelming love for this woman standing before him. “What did I just say?” she laughs, wiping a stray tear that rolled down his cheek and capturing his cheeks between her palms.

“I just don’t know what I’m gonna do without you, Luce,” he confesses. “You’ve been my rock for nearly three years, my reason for fighting. It’s gonna be so different now than it was before.”  

“One problem at a time, right?” she smiles.

“Yes, ma’am,” he laughs, kissing her forehead. “One problem at a time.”

 

* * *

 

Lucy cancelled her class on Wednesday, so she and Wyatt could have as much time as they could before he leaves. Now it’s 9:59 and he’ll be gone in less than 10 hours. Despite their hardest efforts, everything is tainted with sorrow. When they fall into bed, they cling to each other as if it’s the very last time. Each noise carries an echo of loss behind it. This isn’t how either of them want to leave it. So when they lay tangled together afterwards, he fights his normal tendency to drift to sleep. He refuses to let her lay awake, worrying and thinking about all that can go wrong. He knows her too well to believe that she isn’t imagining worst case scenarios, so he distracts her.

“Show me what you do at night,” he whispers into her ear.

“What do you mean?” she asks, turning in his arms to face him.

“I mean, I know you do other things at night than sit and read history books,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against hers. “Show me.” She looks a little confused by the request, but nevertheless complies, grabbing his hand and dragging him over to the little nook by the window.

“It’s really nothing exciting,” she tries to explain to him, but he’s apparently not going to be talked out of this. He takes a seat, resting his back against the wall, and pulls her between his legs.

“I don’t care if it’s exciting,” he tells her. “I only care that it’s you. That’s all the excitement I’ll ever need.” She rolls her eyes and scoffs at the incredibly cheesy comment. She feels a rumble of laughter from his chest.

“There’s my girl,” he chuckles, kissing her temple. “I know you’ve been trying to keep from letting all this worry creep in, but you’ve been losing some of yourself in all that, pulling away.”

“I’m sorry. I--”

“Lucy, you don’t have to apologize,” he cuts her off. “I just want you to be honest with me about what you’re feeling. When I say I love you, I mean every part. Every happy, sad, angry, annoying, brilliant part, so long as it’s _you_.” They sit in silence for a moment as his words take root in her heart.

“I’m scared, Wyatt,” she confesses, leaning into him a bit more. “What if something happens that changes you like it did in Syria? What if you get hurt? What if you don’t…” She doesn’t need to finish the sentence because they both know. _What if you don’t come back?_ It hangs between them, and he feels her shiver at the thought.

“Tell me about the stars,” he urges her, hoping it’ll ease her mind.

“Well, you can’t see many from here,” she explains. “Light pollution, and I mean this window isn’t exactly meant for stargazing.”

“Then tell me about what you know is there,” he nudges her head gently with his. “Teach me.” She scoffs at him yet again, but complies, telling him about what they could see if the ceiling wasn’t above them, and which were her favorite and why and for the moment forgetting what awaited them when the sun rose, but eventually her soldier falls victim to his own exhaustion and his head droops against hers. She breathes easier though. He’s still there, wrapped around her, so she seeps into his embrace and stares into the night sky.

Then a new thought hits her.

It’s _him._

The night. It’s a cheesy metaphor for someone as literal and logical as herself, but it makes sense. Dark, brooding, mysterious, endlessly complex, misunderstood, beautiful. God, he really had turned her into a hopeless romantic. Regardless, she continues to entertain the train of thought. He’s her refuge from the chaos of day. He holds a collection of scars that she can map out like constellations of stars. _Goodness, Lucy,_ she scolds herself. _You sound ridiculous._ But she can’t bring herself to care. He’s going to come back, but for the time their apart she now has this reminder of him. One that’s almost as reliable as he is.

 

* * *

 

Wyatt admits that he’s woken up in comfier places. Every muscle feels like it’s been sitting crooked for hours, and his lower half aches from sleeping in a sitting position all night, but when he opens his eyes to see the wistful light of dawn graze across Lucy’s face which is leaning contentedly against his chest, he forgets his discomfort. His beautiful morning sun. The one who brought life back into his hopeless life.

Maybe she’s the reason he loves the morning.

She glows in the gentle light, and it nearly kills him to think of leaving her for such a long stretch of time, but it’ll pass, and maybe he can search for a more stable position. He’s achieved all he could have ever hoped for in his service, but nothing has been greater than her. She is his greatest gain from all his time in the military. Why continue chasing a dream that he already has?

She stirs when the sun makes its first appearance over the horizon and the light hits her more directly in the eyes.

“Good morning,” he greets her, running a soothing hand across her arms. She glances up and smiles at him like she hasn’t since he gave her the news of his absence. It’s also the first time he can recall seeing her smile so brightly before caffeine has made its way to her brain.

“Good morning,” she replies, sitting up so she can bring her face down to his. They take time to kiss in the dewy light of dawn. He pulls her closer and opens his mouth over hers. Her tongues flicks at his and he responds by gently taking it between his teeth and giving a little tug. A whimper escapes her lips and she crashes into him a little harder this time. It takes him a second to register the dampness he’s feeling against his cheeks, and when he pulls her away slightly, he finds the source. Her eyes are filled with unshed tears while the ones that had been shed had left their cruel marks down her soft cheeks.

“Hey,” he tries to console her, swiping at her eyes. “No need to cry over little, old me. I’m coming home, okay? And I’ll stick to your side so much, you’re going to _wish_ I would leave again.” She gives a half-hearted laugh, and he’ll take all he can get. He pulls her into his arms again, dwelling on nothing more than the feeling of her body against his.

“I love you, Wyatt,” she whispers into the crook of his neck.

“I love you, too, Lucy,” he responds, holding her even tighter. _More than you’ll ever know._ It’s the end on the night and the beginning of the day, and in the middle they meet at dawn. It’s 6:58.

He’s gone in an hour.

 

* * *

 

Despite the ache in her heart, Lucy takes to living alone again pretty well. After all it’s what she’d done before her mom (her _real_ mom) had gotten sick. So the rest of semester drags by without incident. He calls when he can but it isn’t unusual to go a couple weeks or longer at a time without word.

The holidays are harder than she expected without her mom or Amy or Wyatt, but Jiya and Rufus (with their dogs Kirk and Solo) invite her to stay with them for a couple days over Christmas. She gets a call from him on Christmas Day, and it’s the only present she needs. His estimated time to return home is still the beginning of June, but Lucy finally feels she’s over the hump. June will come in no time.

She gets through another semester at Stanford, teaching an American West course, so at least it’s not the Gilded Age, and it makes the spring term go just that much more quick.

Summer comes in not enough haste, and while it means she’s that much closer to having Wyatt home with her again, she’s also left with nothing to do, nothing to teach, nothing to prepare for. So she takes to writing more books, specifically on the key moments she had personally experienced. What else was she supposed to do at this point? But even that becomes tedious eventually, so she stares at the clock, watching it tick before drifting to sleep.

Time isn’t near as exciting when it's all moving in one direction.

  


By the time Lucy wakes up, it’s 10:51. If anything, Wyatt not being there just enforces her habit of sleeping in till mid morning (or even noon on some days), but she still misses being able to walk into the kitchen and see him cooking breakfast, her coffee just as she liked it already sitting next to him on the counter. The few couple months of domesticity they had experienced created a longing in her. Especially now that he’s away. But it’s okay, she reminds herself, he’ll be back in three weeks. Maybe then they’ll find their way back to that.

She stumbles her way out of the bedroom, pretending she didn’t run into the doorframe on the way out, and follows the strong scent of coffee. She started setting it to automatically brew at 9:30 a few months back, so that by the time she finds herself in the kitchen, it’s already waiting for her.

With her eyes still mostly closed, she pulls her mug from the cabinet and begins to fill it, but nearly drops both the pot and the mug when someone speaks behind her.

“I knew you were a zombie in the morning, Luce, but _damn_ I was hoping for a slightly warmer welcome.” She practically throws everything in her hands on the counter with a loud _thud_ before turning to her right to see him there.

 _Him._ Wyatt. He’s right there. In their kitchen. Flipping pancakes. Wearing an apron with a bold _Kiss the Cook_ written across the chest. Still in his Army Green pants and green t-shirt. His beard longer than usual. Smiling like she’s never seen before.

And of course she’s standing there with her mouth half hanging open like a dumbstruck idiot, trying to think of what to do or say.

“Hungry?” he asks, gesturing to the pancakes and she just flings herself into his arms. He drops the spatula and pulls her as close as he can. She’s still too stunned to speak but the laughter she feels rumbling in his chest ignites her heart that had been frozen for so long.

“You’re, uh, you..” she sputters. “How.. you’re _here_? But…” He halts her rambling with a searing kiss to her still open mouth, and she forgets all her questions. His hands find their way into her insane bed head and grab on, forcing her mouth just that much closer to his. His tongue is insistent on re-familiarizing itself with every inch of her mouth, but she doesn’t complain; hers is just as determined. She begins to tug on the edge of that ridiculous apron, and he knows where her thoughts are heading. He moves his hands under her thighs and gives her a little boost to jump up and secure her legs around him, growling into her mouth at the feeling of his hips pressed into hers. He ensures that she won’t fall if he begins to move them by grabbing her tightly around her waist and starts his way to their bedroom, leaving the pancakes to burn on the skillet.

 

“So I take it you were successfully surprised?” he questions a few hours later after they’ve finally settled down enough to just lay together. She barks out a laugh.

“Obviously. There’s a large spill of coffee in the kitchen to confirm it. We might want to clean all that up, actually.” She begins to sit up, but he yanks her back down.

“Eh, it’ll still be there in the morning,” he whispers in her ear.

“The skillet’s been burning all afternoon,” she points out, but he just shakes his head.

“Nope. Automatically turns off after 20 minutes,” he corrects her. “Shows how much cooking you did while I was away.” His teasing earns him a signature Lucy Preston eye roll.

“I hardly ever ate breakfast before you,” she explains. “So when you weren’t here I just stuck with the necessities.”

“Coffee?” he assumes.

“You got it,” she laughs with a cheeky grin. The blissful mood begins to sober and Wyatt leans his head against hers.

“I’m sorry I was gone for so long,” he breathes, folding her in a little closer, but she shakes her head.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She twists her head around to leave a lingering kiss on the underside of his jaw. “You’re home now.” It’s true. And it’s not Northern California. Or the apartment. It’s her. This beautiful, magnificent professor turned world-saver.

When he glances down, he’s surprised to find that she’s already drifted into an early sleep. _Since when does she fall asleep before midnight?_ He doesn’t bother to wake her. He’ll hold her while she sleeps forever if she’ll allow him.

He glances at the clock.

8:03.

The sunset is burning through their western window.

And he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! For all of you wondering when I’ll update Dancing in the Minefields, it should be updated this weekend! Please review!


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